An Intern’s Fantasy Pt. 03

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Our presentations went really well and my teammates’ creative concepts got rave reviews. I try to be a humble person, but I was feeling pretty confident that we would be invited to the dinner party and I was getting excited to visit Robert Barton’s home. I was close with one of my coworkers on Mrs. Fisher’s team, Becca, and I asked her about the dinner party. She was instantly envious and started sharing everything she’d heard about those parties. Every year, only a handful of people get invited and Becca had never been. “They do a good job of inviting different groups every year, but when you work for a company this big it’s tough to get an invite.”

“Why do interns get to go, then?” I asked. I felt bad for her and wished I could let her go in my place.

“The executives like to invite a couple interns so that the interns feel like they’re really a part of the company too. Not just some temps.”

“That’s really cool, but I do feel bad about it. Can I send you in my place if we do end up getting picked out of the interns?”

Becca brushed off my invitation graciously and insisted that I go. She just asked that I tell her everything because she didn’t believe all the tales she’d heard about these parties.

Surely enough, my team received an email from the intern advisors congratulating us on our great presentation and inviting us to the party. The email detailed when and where the Friday party would be and told us to not worry about dressing up, but to come in something nice. I liked the occasional chance to dress up, so I wasn’t worried about what to wear.

Work dragged on slowly as my anticipation for the party preoccupied my thoughts. It didn’t help that Becca could talk of nothing else. I let my mind wander as I imagined what Mr. Barton’s home would be like. Would it reflect his sophisticated nature or the lacking touch of a natural home maker? I knew he was a wealthy man but wondered just how wealthy he was. In my mind, the most modest home must cost millions. I imagined he would have a beautiful space if he hosted parties with such a coveted invitation.

After much daydreaming and anticipation, the close of the work week finally arrived and I left work to go home and get ready for the party. I already had my attire planned out and was ready to take a shower, freshen up, and head across the L train to Brooklyn. I was ready to go fairly quickly, but I checked the clock because I wanted to make sure I arrived about five minutes late and I knew I needed to leave about ten minutes before the hour. The fifteen minutes I spent waiting to walk to the subway felt longer than the agonizing two days prior. By the time I got to the station, took the train across the borough to Brooklyn, walked from the station to the address given to me, and stood before Robert Barton’s front door, I felt like a fool. What was all of this anticipation building inside of me? Like a bucket of cold water, reality set in and I knew that nothing was going to happen tonight except for me getting a hard-on stealing glances at my fantasy man in a very public venue.

I knocked on the front door and was let into a truly beautiful home. The main floor was an open concept with a kitchen and several sitting areas all immediately in view as soon as you step inside. It was like a showcase home for magazines in the heart of Brooklyn. I couldn’t even guess what it would cost. The furniture was very modern and new and obviously designed by people with a taste for flair. There were stairs leading up and down on the right and at the back of the house, there was a door that looked like it led to a patio. For once, I was distracted from the thought of Rob by taking in the whole space. I slowly walked around the main floor and admired the details.

In the first little sitting area, there was a fireplace next to a bench that was built into the wall and covered with a soft pad and several pillows. There was a small, oblong marble table with a wiry, metal sculpture that was speckled teal and white and grey. Above the bench, there was a shelf on the wall with an assortment of colorful pottery. The room was a perfect example of the overall design of the home with lots of intricate details and interesting, modern pieces. I just wondered if the pottery and sculptures had meaning or were merely interesting conceptual pieces for his home.

After admiring the first area, I decided to go say hello to some of my co-workers that I knew. I found my intern group huddled together and joined them. It was natural that we all grouped together because we all felt like a small fry in this pond. I thought it was boring of them, but then realized I would be terrified if they weren’t there and was instantly grateful I didn’t have to spend the whole night with the internal struggle of fighting my shyness to meet people or standing alone awkwardly in a corner of the house. The interns were talking about their weekend plans and one of them dominated the conversation raving on and on about this nightclub he had discovered in Manhattan. I rolled my eyes before realizing what I was doing and had a mini bahis firmaları panic attack he might have seen. Luckily, it seemed he hadn’t.

I was grateful when our conversation was interrupted by Lisa, our internship coordinator. She was our first contact at the company and the coordinator for all of our internship projects and activities and she was the loveliest person in all of New York. I beamed at her and she said hi to all of us, congratulated us again on our great work that landed us at the party, and told us she was going to find Robert Barton who insisted on meeting us tonight. I swallowed as she left to find him as I realized I wouldn’t know how to act towards him in front of all of these people. I never told anyone I regularly conversed with Robert and I was pretty sure that none of my team had ever met him before outside of a large group setting.

My team member continued describing the night club briefly before Lisa returned with Robert. “Ah, the interns!” He greeted us with his classic smile that lit up a room. “I will tell you what – this group has done some incredible work on your Play Doh project.” I smiled and he looked at me for a moment. He asked us each to introduce ourselves and what school we were attending. I remembered in the elevator when we first met that he had stated that he knew all of his employees and thought he genuinely might be trying to memorize each of our names on the spot. When it came around the circle to me he announced “and I already know Chris from UT. Welcome to the party, Chris.” I thanked him and admired his warm smile. It was crazy what a simple smile could do to me. I realized I didn’t have a backpack with me to cover any bulges, so I needed to be careful at the party tonight.

When the group all introduced themselves, he welcomed us to his party and told us to make ourselves at home but not to break anything. He gave a dorky laugh and excused himself to go make the rounds with all the guests. I admired his clothes as he left. He had some old fashioned slacks that were really light beige and very retro looking. On top he had a thin, navy sweater underneath a smart light blue blazer. Everything was perfectly tailored and complemented his big figure. I knew if I admired any longer, we’d have some bulging issues so I refocused on our conversation. Before leaving our group, Lisa insisted that we enjoy ourselves and branch away from just having an intern night. “Meet some new people and enjoy the food.” She made this face that is difficult to describe but made it clear that the food was going to be good.

I respected Lisa so I forced myself to introduce myself to a few people and try and get to know them. As Robert had outlined weeks ago, I lack confidence and the task took some concerted effort. I met some really pleasant people, but of course it’s easy to be pleasant in this setting. I wondered how kind they’d be if I had first met them in the office. Lisa saw me making an effort while most the other interns stayed where they were and after a while she approached me. “Are you interested in returning to the agency after you graduate, Chris?” I told her I was extremely interested and was loving my internship and my time in New York. She told me not to get too excited but she was impressed with my work and my attitude, and she was going to initiate some conversations. I blushed and told her how awesome she was and she told me to go back to my seat because the food was coming.

I rejoined the interns and the first round of appetizers came around. I don’t know who was providing the food but it was incredible. Drinks were flowing, and waiters seemed to come back over and over again with different dishes. I know I was living on a budget eating sandwiches, Ramen, and dollar slices from the pizza spot on the corner. So maybe I was deprived of quality food. But the food at the party was like nothing I’ve ever had before. I was starting to understand why there was so much chatter at the office about the party. I was getting full and thought I’d better switch to water for a while. I had already had a few drinks and I didn’t want to make a fool of myself. Right on queue, someone fell and shattered a wine glass on her way down. She popped back to her feet clumsily and her hair flipped to the side of her head. She looked around and started apologizing. I cringed for her and forced myself to look away to avoid the secondhand embarrassment. Robert stepped up to the front and gracefully took the attention away from the poor lady. He took a mic, thanked everyone for coming, and introduced the entertainment. There was a caricature artist available to anyone for free, a photo booth with props, lots of games, and back inside the house they were going to do trivia for prizes. I was blown away.

My intern group wanted to do the photo booth, so we went straight for the line. As I stood and observed, I noticed that people were getting pretty lively and I was sure that many of them were getting drunk. I shook my head and my friend pulled me in the booth. Five of us crammed in and started posing with different props and making faces and kaçak iddaa the Polaroids came out of the machine and we all picked one. It was fun and I was glad to have a memento of my team. When we climbed out of the booth, I told them I was going to walk around and get some air. I went straight to the caricature booth just to watch him draw. The line was already wrapped around the yard. I took a moment to really admire the space. It may have been even more impressive than the inside. There was a large deck on the main floor adjacent to the back door and stairs down from the deck to the yard, which was mostly paved in large gray, rectangular stones and surrounded by a high dark brown fence with horizontal panels. The fence was covered in greenery and there were lights strung for the party. It was a large space, especially for New York City.

Someone called out and announced the trivia would be starting and I decided to have a go, even though I knew I didn’t have a chance. I thought it would be fun just to watch. After a few questions, my suspicion was confirmed and I knew I had no chance. I kept playing and watching to see who would win. Lisa was doing well and I was rooting for her. I noticed that quite a few people had started to funnel out, and realized that it was Friday night and they probably had other parties and nightclubs to get to. My intern friends came by and said they were going to that nightclub they’d all been talking about and I told them I wanted to finish the trivia and to go ahead and I’d catch up. “OK, but come when you’re done!” I nodded my head and watched them scurry out the door.

Ten minutes later, the trivia finished and some guy named Devon had won a new iPad. Lisa finished third and got a $100 gift card and I cheered loudly for her. She pointed her finger high in the air towards me and reciprocated a loud cheer. She behaved like Pam, from The Office, drunk at the Dundies. I chuckled and the trivia group started to scatter. Even the line for the caricature was getting short. The party was clearly coming to an end and I started searching for an excuse to stay.

I decided to check out the rooms I hadn’t before dinner. I went into the largest sitting room, which was now empty, and looked at all the trinkets and art. There was a glass table in the middle with peculiar, slanted, orange legs. There were tall, skinny gold lamps in the corner and more pottery on shelves. The seats were so comfortable even though they didn’t look like it. The focal piece was a giant painting on the far wall. It was three paintings framed as one, with the center canvas larger than the two on the outside. It was abstract and unique. It was mostly swirls of blue and white that almost looked like marble with dashes of every color fading in and out of the ocean-like lines. In the bottom corner of the main canvas there was a signature in gold and a personalized message to Robert. I looked closer to try and make out the message when a voice caught me off guard and caused me to jump.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Robert apologized, though he couldn’t help but laugh.
“I don’t mean to snoop.”
“Oh, not at all! It’s amazing isn’t it?”
I nodded and asked who painted it.
“Me.”
My eyes must have popped.
“No, no. It wasn’t. It’s actually my wife’s work.”
“Really?” It was beautiful.
“She painted it for me on our anniversary a long time ago.”
“That’s really something. Does she paint a lot?”
He smirked his little half-smile. “Quite a bit. She is pretty successful and has quite a reputation.”
“I’m so dumb,” I shook my head. “Tell me she has work at MoMA.”
“You’re not dumb. It’s not like she’s a household name but she is quite good and has had several shows in galleries here in the city over the years.”
I looked over it again and we stood in silence for a moment.
“What about the pottery?” I asked, remembering the other art in the house. “Hers too?”
“No, another friend. Well, he was Jean’s friend first. They did a lot of shows together and he became a close family friend. Not all of it is his, but a lot of the pottery you see was given to me by Christopher.”
“Well, your house is amazing and I could look through it all day.”
“I didn’t realize you were so interested in art.”
“Oh, I’m no art historian. I haven’t really gotten to see much other than the Picasso and Monet and Van Gogh you learn in school. I have been to MoMA here and want to do the others.”

“Follow me.” He turned towards the kitchen and we headed down the stairs to the basement. There was a large sitting room when you reached the bottom and a couple of closed doors to other rooms. He took a seat on this strangely shaped chair and invited me to look around with just the gesture of his arms. The walls were covered with art and there were more sculptures and pottery scattered around the furniture.

“Tell me about this one.” I settled in front of a large painting of a field of purple flowers. He gave me the story as my eyes bounced from him to the painting, back and forth. I was truly captivated, and this time it was by more than just my physical attraction. We repeated kaçak bahis this a couple more times, going over the paintings, before we were interrupted by his assistant, who was calling for him from upstairs.
“Oh, excuse me real quick. As you were.” He hurried up the stairs, presumably to thank her for all the planning and walk her out. She probably closed up the party and dealt with all the vendors while we were down in the art gallery.

I realized I had significantly overstayed my welcome and started to feel guilty. After a while he came back down, with some drinks and a couple of glasses. I was embarrassed to be the last one there.
“I’m sorry, I’ve overstayed my welcome. I should go.”
“Oh, nonsense!” He literally shrugged off my comment. “Feel free to leave, but I am enjoying the conversation. I haven’t had anyone to really discuss this with since..”
His voice trailed off and I knew. I responded quickly because he was so chipper until he thought of his divorce, and I wanted to gloss over it and get back to cheerful Robert. “Which is your favorite of these?” I worried that it would be a piece from his wife, but luckily he picked one that wasn’t. I figured his wife’s art wouldn’t be in this room. He led me to one and I looked at him puzzled. Even I recognized that one.
“That isn’t..” I asked.
“No,” he chuckled. “Have you ever been in a museum and there is an artist doing a live recreation of one of the pieces?
I nodded.
“We were in France and the lady was recreating my favorite Monet.” He went on about the piece and the visit to France. It was a piece from his Water Lily series. I was no expert, but the artist did a wonderful replica. When he finished, he offered me a drink and took his seat.
“Oh, no thank you. I had a couple and I shouldn’t overdo it or I might not make it home.”
“Do you mind?”
“Oh, no. Not at all!” He was so polite and distinguished and handsome.

I took a seat across from him and he poured himself a little glass of something hard. I had the feeling that was his first of the night. He probably didn’t drink while the guests were here.
“So, did you enjoy the night? Is it everything they make it out to be?”
I chuckled, amused that he knew about all the rumors that flew around the office. “It was incredible and I’m not just saying that. The food was better than anything I’d ever had before. Where is it from?”
He told me all about his favorite restaurant and sipped on his beverage. I stole glances at his groin. He wasn’t hard or anything, but the way he was sitting in that strange chair propped up his groin and made a huge pouch in the middle of his pants. I was lusting after him more than ever. After hearing his passion for art, I was even more in love with his personality, his friendliness and warmth, his mannerisms, and of course his face and body. But I couldn’t help but remember our lunch and the fool I had made of myself. I couldn’t do it again. No, I would just enjoy the conversation and the art and the view in front of me.

When he finished talking about the restaurant, I realized that I probably stared too long. I quickly made more conversation and he poured himself another drink.
“Last one,” he told himself aloud sternly, eliciting another smile from me.
I asked him about the best museums and he happily shared his opinion and knowledge, telling me that as good as the museums obviously were, he preferred the modern galleries. It made sense, after seeing the way his home was designed. He clearly had a taste for modern art.

“Excuse me, sorry.” He interrupted, as he reached down to undo his shoelaces. “Do you mind? I promise my feet don’t stink.”
“Of course not, please. You’re in your own home!”
“These darn shoes are just so tight. I can’t wear them this long anymore.” He slowly removed them and set them to the side and tried to massage his feet on the floor. He was in clear discomfort.
I offered to massage his feet.
“Oh no!” He instantly refused. “I couldn’t.”
It was pretty awkward I’m sure and he was so polite he probably didn’t want to demean me. I insisted.
“Robert, you’re clearly in considerable discomfort if you have gotten to the point that you needed to remove your shoes. I can tell it pained you to take them off and you’re trying to rub them into the floor. I don’t mind at all and my mom says I’m the best at it.” I smiled.
He still resisted but I approached him and sat on the table in front of him and lifted his legs. He relented but his face showed he was clearly still reluctant.
“Robert, it’s nothing. Really.”

As I lifted his legs, it caused him to lean all the way back in the chair and I rested his feet on my legs. I gently started to squeeze his feet to try and gauge how much pressure he liked. I learned that the trick to a massage is to find what people like because the spectrum is so wide. I personally didn’t like much pressure so I knew to start soft and gradually press harder. Their muscles will start to react when you apply more pressure than they like. Robert liked a bit of pressure, I found, so I really started to dig in. His eyes were closed and he looked so satisfied it made my dick jump. I crossed my legs and hoped he’d keep his eyes closed. I didn’t have a foot fetish or anything but I was happy just to be touching his body in such an intimate way.

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